The Shinigami Chronicles
by TheDoctor1194
Summary: A shinigami's journey is not an easy one. Even after completing the academy, life is constant battle to outdo both enemies and comrades alike. But when an ancient evil wakes, four young Shinigami will be drawn into the legend of the Harbingers and their mysterious leader, known only as the Sentinel.
1. Chapter 1: The Dark Horizon

**Author's note: This is my first fanfiction. It is set in an alternate/parallel universe to that of Bleach. My goal is to push the systems and ideas that Kubo created to their farthest limit. Input and suggestions are appreciated. All characters are original, though some follow closely to their counterparts from the manga, such as the 12th squad captain being a mad scientists or the 11th squad captain having the name Kenpachi.**

**That being said, I hope everyone enjoys the story. More chapters will be uploaded shortly.**

**Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated.**

**Rated T for violence.**

* * *

**Chapter One: The Dark Horizon**

"Toss it, already," his friend moaned, not attempting to hide his boredom or impatience.

The boy continued to roll the dice in his hand for a few more seconds before letting it roll out onto the dusty ground between them. He watched in anticipation as the cube slowed its roll, about to land on the four that he needed to win. Just as the dice stopped, it started again, blown back by a tremendous gust of wind that knocked the dry dust into the air. The boy rubbed his eyes, coughing as the dust and wind took the breath from him.

* * *

Far off, standing atop a pristine ivory tower, a man stared at the dark clouds rolling in from over the Southern part of Rukongai. His white haori and thick black hair billowing behind him as another blast of wind passed by. He eyed the storm with a look of anger and something akin to suspicion, as though it were an enemy that had come unannounced to his doorstep. A streak of lightning lit the darkness hanging under the clouds like a scar. Moments later the air concussed like the sound of a great war drum. The man simply stood, watching as the storm grew, boiling darkness into the heavens. At the sound of a clanging bell, he turned and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

* * *

He awoke to a boiling, black sky. Whether it was the rain that woke him, or the biting cold of the wind, he didn't know. His black hair matted against and around his head, his green eyes squinting as they gazed up at the falling rain. He slowly sat up, gingerly rubbing his aching head as he scanned his surroundings. He lay in a muddy street, with shabby, wooden houses lining it on both sides. Every house had been shuttered and boarded up against the elements.

He stood shakily and walked to the nearest house. He knocked on the door, hoping to get an answer. None came. Another gust of wind ripped through the street, biting through his wet clothes and chilling him to the bone. He knocked again, calling out in a tentative voice, "Hello?" I lowed thump sounded against the door from inside.

"Get lost!" a gravely voice called from within. He considered protesting, but thought better of it. The resident was obviously not someone he could expect to get along with, even if he did decide to let him in. He moved on to the next house, receiving an even less hospitable answer this time. He tried another, noting that the rain only seemed to become more intense as time went on. After receiving no answer, he was about to knock on another door, when a voice called out to him.

"What are you doing, boy?"

He turned and saw an old man standing under a large umbrella, seemingly undeterred by the wind. His kindly blue eyes gently invited an answer from beneath bushy, grey eyebrows. He raised his umbrella over the young man who still had to duck to fit beneath it.

"Well?" the man asked.

The young man had to shake himself out of his strange stupor. He didn't know why this old man seemed so familiar, but the gentle smile that showed beneath his bushy beard struck a cord in his heart, like a fond memory swimming just below the surface of his consciousness.

"I was looking for a place to get out of the rain," he said after regaining what little composure he could while thoroughly soaked.

The old man smiled kindly at him. "That much is obvious," he said with slight amusement. "But why are you going about it like that?"

The young man was slightly confused as he answered, "I guess I was just hoping someone would be kind." His eyes fell slightly, not sure if he was supposed to feel sad or naïve.

"You must be new," the old man said simply. "This is the fifty-third district of Southern Rukongai. There is very little hospitality or kindness to be found here."

"I see," the young man answered, unsure of what else he could say to that statement.

"However, my house is in the thirtieth district. If you don't mind carrying my umbrella, I will gladly give you shelter for the night."

"I would really appreciate that," he replied with barely controlled eagerness.

The old man continued to smile gently as he handed the umbrella to the young man, before turning to lead him northward.

"My name is Sashiri, by the way," said the old man.

"It's nice to meet you," the young man returned. "I am..." He paused abruptly, trying to keep control of the panic that was starting to rise in his chest.

"Yes?" Sashiri prodded.

"I...don't remember," he replied numbly.

Sashiri glanced at him, noting the despondent look in the man's eyes. He gave him a look of slight pity.

"Don't worry," he said. "Perhaps you will remember better once you have warmed up. This is not a very pleasant time to arrive."

Sahiri's words confused him slightly, but he decided to ask later. For now he was consumed with one thought that drummed through his head.

'Who am I?'

* * *

The room was white. The furniture was white. Even his clothes were white. The only things in the room that weren't white were the man's dark skin and the game pieces he was placing on a checkered board. Each piece was placed with utmost care, as if placing any of them even a millimeter off center would shatter them.

"Have you heard the report?" another asked from the corner.

"Of course," the man at the table replied as he set the next piece.

"What will you do about it?"

The man took his time answering. "Nothing."

"Is that really wise?"

"Black is still placing their pieces on the board," he said as he laid a black knight on the board. "There is no need to rush. In war, as in chess, it is not he who strikes first that inevitably wins, but he who places the other in an impossible situation, where no move can lead to victory. It is the patient, who strikes once and deals a mortal wound, rather than he who delivers many shallow wounds."

The other man sighed at his associate's veiled answer.

"We will let the shinigami place their pieces," he continued after a moment. "They will fall in time."


	2. Chapter 2: The Red Dawn

**Chapter Two: The Red Dawn**

The morning light drifted lazily through the slatted walls of Sashiri's small house. His young guest stirred slowly from his slumber. He had slept soundly, if not comfortably, on a bedroll placed near the fireplace in the center of the room. They had returned the previous evening, he had assumed it was evening to the darkness, though he couldn't be sure. His mind still spun, raging against its own emptiness and Sashiri's words.

"You called this place Soul Society," he had prodded when they arrived. "What did you mean?" Sashiri turned from the fire he had been building and looked at him with a gentle authority that precluded any arguments.

"Soul Society is the place we are now," he began slowly. "It is this world. Within Soul Society is Rukongai, the city we reside in. It is divided into districts extending north, south, east, and west all around Seireitei."

"Seireitei," the man murmured. His voice was questioning, though filled with a child-like wonder that made the old man smile slightly.

"Yes, that is the home of the great, noble clans and of the Shinigami." He paused allowing the man to consider the implications of what he had said.

"Shinigami...Soul Society... Does this mean that I'm dead?" To the man's surprise and great unease, Sashiri laughed at the question. It wasn't menacing or psychotic, but rather a laugh full of humor, as though laughing at a joke to which only he knew the punchline.

"My dear boy," he began after catching his breath. "If you are dead, how can we be speaking now?" The other man didn't know how to answer. "While it is true that a shnigami's duty includes leading departed souls to Soul Society, are the souls dead?" His eyes suddenly darkened before continuing. "Make no mistake, boy. One may be dead long before their heart stops."

The younger man chose to remain silent, dreading the response he would get if he asked for an explanation. The sadness and foreboding in the old man's eyes seemed like graves of their own. Sashiri coughed once, before removing a thin pole from the fire and sliding freshly roasted vegetables and herbs into a bowl for his guest before taking some himself.

"What should I call you?" Sashiri asked after a prolonged silence.

"I don't know," came the reply. "I still don't remember anything. I don't know where I'm from or who I am."

"Do you know what kind of person you want to be?"

"No," he replied after a moment of thought.

"Then start there," the old man said, before standing and walking to his room. He returned with a bedroll that he laid near the fire before retiring to his own room for the night.

The young man still pondered those words as he rose, taking in the morning light and allowing its warmth to wash over him, relieving some of the tension in his heart.

* * *

Elsewhere, the morning sun brought to another man a much worse feeling. He stood in a clearing in the great forest at the westernmost edge of Rukongai. Blood was pooled around the bodies of fallen villagers, their scythes and pitchforks had been shattered and their torches extinguished in the crimson pools surrounding them. His sandy-white hair hung loosely by his shoulders with small drops flecked onto the strands. He breathed heavily, trying not to scream as he ran, the killer's voice still echoing through his skull, laughing maniacally at his work.


	3. Chapter 3: Nobility from the Heart

**Chapter Three: Nobility from the Heart**

Three days had passed, uneventfully, since the storm. Sashiri and his companion walked the streets of Southern Rukongai's eleventh district, often called the Market District. Colorful awnings hung over small stands lined with colorful produce, intricate glasswork, and everything in between.

Sashiri drifted to and fro, examining the various wares and receiving kind greetings from several of the merchants.

"Everyone seems to know you," the young man said after they had left the sixth such stand. His tone was respectful, though his voice carried a hint of wistfulness. Sashiri frowned slightly. '_It's difficult enough to be unknown,' _he thought. '_But to be unable to fall back on your own identity must be nearly unbearable.'_

"If you honor an honorable man, he will honor you in return," Sashiri answered. "But show honor to a shameless man, and you invite shame on yourself." The young man didn't answer. He had begun to grow used to the old man answering in proverbs and chose to ponder the words silently. However, his thoughts were disrupted when Sashiri shoved a large melon into his already full hands.

"Hey!" he protested. "I'm gonna drop this stuff if you keep adding to it." Sashiri merely laughed as he walked toward another stand. "Learn to balance the burden so that it is no longer a burden," he called back. The young man shifted the goods to a slightly more comfortable position before following him.

"It's true!" he heard the merchant Sashiri was speaking to insist. "A demon has appeared in the Great Western Forest!"

"A hollow?" Sashiri asked. "The Shinigami should handle that."

"But they don't even seem to notice the problem!" the merchant shot back. "A group of farmers and thugs from the 80th district went after it a couple of nights ago. None of them came back." Sashiri's answer came slowly, and the young man caught a hint of worry hidden in his smile.

"You're taking these rumors too seriously, my friend. If there really was a problem, the Shinigami would do something. If they haven't, there is likely nothing to be concerned about." The merchant's posture relaxed slightly.

"I guess you're right," he responded.

"Now then," Sashiri began in a lighter tone, "I'll take two baskets."

The young man looked at Sashiri with horror as the old man handed him two large baskets of berries to carry. At that moment, he was wishing the demon the merchant had talked about would show up and kill him.

* * *

The sun was setting as the two made their way back to Sashiri's small house. The young man was loaded down with goods. Apparently, Sashiri's friendship with the merchants allowed him to buy goods at extremely low prices.

"Hey, Sashiri-san," he asked, voice strained slightly from the weight. "You told the merchant that the rumors of a demon were nothing to worry about, but you seemed somewhat concerned, yourself. Why?" The old man didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice was quite somber.

"You have keen eyes. What I said to him may very well be true. However, there is another reason the Shinigami aren't acting."

"What's that?"

"It could be that they don't act because they don't know what it is that's causing the problem."

"You said it could be a hollow." Sashiri had explained the nature of Hollows to him the previous night. The description had sent chills down his spine. He hoped that what Sashiri wasn't suggesting anything worse.

"Hollows will occasionally sneak into Soul Society and cause trouble, but the Shinigami will catch wind of them quickly. It is likely that this is not a hollow."

"But this is still only a possibility, right?"

"It is, but there is another thing. The 80th District of each division of Rukongai is the worst, the most savage, and the most arrogant. The district in the west is by far the worst. The have a fierce reputation and are feared for their strength. If a rumor like this is circulating, that they had people missing, perhaps dead, it is most likely that they are afraid of whatever is out there, and whatever can scare them, is not to be taken lightly."

After that, they walked on in silence.

Coming to the twenty-third district, they saw a runner crying out, "Make way! Make way!" Curious people began lining the streets, whispering to each other anxiously. Sashiri pulled the young man to the road side and had him place their things behind them.

"What's going on?" he asked the older man. Sashiri only gestured for silence.

He looked curiously out over the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of what the fuss was over. Then the crowd started to fall silent, a wave of stillness flowing from the south as a man wearing a brilliant, white haori walked the street. His dark hair was streaked with grey, falling passed his shoulders which were adorned by a white silk scarf. As he passed, the people beside the road bowed respectfully. He made no sign to acknowledge their presence. He merely passed in silence, holding the hilt of his sword, his strides long and firm, as one who carried authority.

Sashiri pulled on the young man, forcing him into a bow as the man passed. The younger man looked up, catching sight of flecks of red on the man's otherwise clean haori. The man's eyes caught his, the deep blue holding nothing to be read, either of approval or disapproval. He merely walked on. Passing out of sight around a bend in the road.

Once he was gone, the people resumed their activities, whispering hurriedly to each other as they went.

"Who was that?" the young man asked as they resumed their journey. Sashiri's silence lasted for two districts and made him brace for the proverb that he knew would come.

"What does it mean to be noble?" Sashiri asked eventually.

The young man didn't answer, causing the Sashiri to frown, though he couldn't see because the old man was ahead of him, facing forward.

"There are four Noble Houses in Seireitei," he said after a minute. "Of those, the Kuchiki House is the greatest. With your memory loss, you can't be expected to know these things, but I will tell you why. The House has flourished under the current head, the captain you saw today. He has received overwhelming support from the people because of his character. He follows the law, setting an example to others, and when someone finds the law difficult to follow, he helps them however he can. He fights corruption among the officers and advocates for the oppressed. He is noble inside and out. The people today bowed, not out of duty, but out of true respect. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Good," Sashiri said, letting some fire out of his voice. They said nothing more as they entered the house. The young man placed the goods as directed, and Sashiri retired to his room. The young man, however, sat outside, watching the stars turn lazily overhead. He pondered Sashiri's words from his first night and those he had just spoken. Eventually coming to a decision...

* * *

As the sun rose the next morning, Sashiri found the bedroll in the main room was untouched. He walked outside to find the young man sitting on a rock a small distance from the house. Walking up to him, he coughed once to get his attention, almost gasping at the change when he turned. His eyes, thought still green, and sharp though his mind was mostly empty with amnesia, held a resolve he hadn't seen in the previous days.

"So," he said with a hint of approval, "It seems you've decided."

The young man nodded. "I think I know what kind of man I want to be," he said. "And I have a name." Sashiri said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"My name will be Kizoku Shinzo."

"It is a fine name," Sashiri said, smiling proudly. "Now, Kizoku, would you like something to eat?"

"Yes, please," Kizoku said eagerly. "I'm famished." Sashiri laughed as the man walked briskly inside, trying to hide the sudden sadness that had been forced upon him by the simple sentence that had just been uttered.

* * *

**Just a quick note for anyone who's interested; the chapter title is a reference to Kizoku's name. Roughly translated, it means noble heart, or nobility of the heart.**

**The significane of a name will be explored later on in the story as well.**


	4. Chapter 4: Prelude to Darkness

**Chapter Four: Prelude to Darkness**

Bare feet padded across the polished wood floors. A violet kimono swished back and forth against her ankles. Her thin shoulders were held back in a dignified posture, dark, chocolate brown hair cascading past them like a waterfall. Her sky-blue eyes were humorless as a servant opened the door to the dining room.

She walked in and bowed respectfully to the man seated at the head of the table. His hair was the same dark brown as hers, though cut short above his neck where a white haori graced his broad shoulders. His sea-green eyes were warm as he beckoned her to sit next to the red-haired woman on his right. She obeyed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders at his look.

As soon as she had seated herself, a servant placed some food in front of her. She waited patiently as the man took the first bite, signaling the beginning of the meal. They ate in silence for a time, before the man spoke.

"How have your preparations come along, Sora?"

"Very well, Father." She dipped her head in respect before continuing. "I believe I will place well in the examination tomorrow."

A look of annoyance flashed across her face as she saw the young man on the other side of the table snickering to himself.

"Is something funny, Kosoku-nee-san?" she asked with irritation. Kosoku stilled his laughter, returning her icy-blue stare with green eyes that hid a certain coldness intermixed with their mirth.

"I guess I just find the thought of you joining the Academy and actually _fighting _someone kind of funny."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me. If I recall the last time we sparred, you didn't do so well."

"_I'm _not a Lieutenant," she bit back, gesturing at the insignia tied to his left arm.

"Your techniques were sloppy because you were _afraid _of facing strong opponent." His voice was far more harsh than one would reasonably have expected, holding more accusation than correction.

"If you do anything to shame the Shihoin family," he began in a low growl.

"Kosoku!" their father interrupted. "That is enough."

Kosoku settled down in his seat, chastened, but still glaring at his sister.

"Honestly, Kashikoizo," interjected the woman. "Let him speak. It is better that she hear criticism now, so that she doesn't buckle later."

"Yeah!" Kosoku joined, regaining some of his boldness. "If she doesn't get her head straight now, she could shame us al-"

"ENOUGH!" Kashikoizo yelled back. Both stopped talking and lowered their heads. "Kasaihime, Kosoku, please leave me to speak with Sora." Kosoku looked like he wanted to object, but left with his mother, leaving the two alone at the table.

Sora felt like she was about to erupt. If her father hadn't intervened, Kosoku might have received a broken nose. Her father sighed, setting his cup back on the table.

"Perhaps one day, we will be able to get through a meal in peace," he said sadly.

"I'm sorry, Father. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"What's done is done," he said, waving off her apology. "Now, about today's examination, do you feel prepared?"

Sora hesitated for a moment before responding, "I think so."

"What you lack is not courage, like your brother said," he responded with a hint of sadness. "It is resolve."

"Resolve?"

"Yes. The decision not just to act, but to succeed."

"How can I decide to succeed?" she asked with a hint of desperation. "Just because I want to succeed doesn't mean I will!"

"That, I'm afraid, is something you must discover for yourself. Along with many other things I wish I could explain. For now, just trust in your ability. Be confident, but not arrogant, and you will go far."

He smiled softly at her and she smiled back, a hint of disappointment on her face, but her heart had calmed.

"What time is it?" Kashikoizo asked with a look that was a mix between ignorance, curiosity, confusion, and worry. Sora had to keep herself from laughing, until she understood why he had asked. She was going to be late.

* * *

Sashiri sat silently in his room, his thoughts only interrupted by the occasional smack of a fist against wood. He held a picture in his frail hands, staring down at the faces with regret and longing. The one was obviously his own, much younger and lighter, carrying a hint of mischief as he tussled the dark hair of a much younger man on his right, barely more than a boy. He wore a shihakshou, proudly sticking out his chest. His thin face split into an excited grin. To the left was a more dignified looking man. A noble before grey had begun to streak through his hair. Small tears struck the photo as the old man's shoulders silently shook.

* * *

Kizoku was breathing heavily. He had succeeded in causing some slight dents in the upright log, but nothing close to Sashiri's demand to break it with a single strike.

_"We need wood for the fire." _He had explained. _"Otherwise I can't make lunch."_

_ "Why can't I use an axe or a saw?" _Kizoku had protested.

_"I don't have one."_

Kizoku had almost fallen over in exasperation.

'Why did he insist on such a bone headed method?' he thought. 'I never thought I'd be doing this agai-…'

His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He struggled to hold onto it, but it had already vanished. He sent another punch at the log, venting his disappointment and anger. He heard a sharp crack as his fist connected, and, for a moment, he thought his hand had broken. Looking up, however, he found that there was a deep crack in the wood. He lightly nudged the top and it fell over with a thud.

"Oh, you managed to break it."

Kizoku turned just in time to catch a small stone that was flying towards his head. He looked curiously at its smooth surface before turning back to Sashiri.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Your next task." Kizoku just looked at him blankly.

"Now that we have wood, break that stone while I prepare some food."

"How am I supposed to do that!?"

"You'll find a way, I'm sure," Sashiri called out light heartedly. "Lunch will be ready when you've done it."

Kizoku groaned.

* * *

The room was large, its high vaulted ceiling looming high overhead. The walls were a deep copper color. Only one piece of furniture sat there. A simple chair, that seemed to loom menacingly over the gathered men. It was not the chair itself that gave of this feeling, but the man that sat in it. He was old, with a short white beard and equally white hair resting just past his neck. Though the chair should have been uncomfortable, he lounged in it, waiting for the men to assemble before him, six on his right, and six on his left, each wearing a white haori with their division number plastered on the back.

"Let us begin," he ordered once the captains had taken their places. "Captain Takedo, what do you have to report about the convergence?"

The man who stepped forward to speak was thin, almost sickly, with shocking green hair branching out from his head at every angle. He smiled at the head captain before bowing. One would struggle to determine the reason for the smile if they didn't know the Twelfth Squad's captain. One might think it was disrespect or arrogance, but, to a knowing observer, it was a sign of sheer insanity.

"The signatures are still wide spread, Head Captain Nakamora," the captain began. "As of now, we have yet to discover the source of the disruption."

"I see. Captain Kuchiki, what of your investigation to of the southern marshes?"

The sixth squad captain stepped forward.

"Aside from a few hollows, there is nothing to report. Everything is quiet. I am more interested in Captain Kenpachi's investigation of the Western Forests."

All eyes turned to the tallest figure in the room. His muscular frame was imposing, and long blonde hair clashed violently with his dark skin. A bored look plagued his face as he answered.

"By the time I showed up, the only ones around were dead."

"Hollows?" asked the grey haired captain of the Thirteenth Division.

"No, I know a sword wound when I see one. All of them were cut down."

The captains considered his words in silence.

"Captain Kashikoizo, I want you to send members of your squad to observe the area. See if they can identify the culprit." The Second Squad's captain nodded his head in acknowledgement of the order.

"Captain Takedo, please send regular reports on the status of the convergence. The rest of you begin preparing your squads for battle. Captain Norichi, inform the instructors at the academy to increase the rigor of the training. As of now, Seireitei shall begin wartime preparations. Dismissed!"

* * *

Kizoku was breathing heavily once again. Not out of exertion this time, but out of irritation. He didn't know what Sashiri was thinking with this task. He had thrown the rocked, stomped on it, even hit it with another rock, but nothing worked. He didn't really expect it to. He was starting to worry about the old man. He had been behaving unusually even before he had started assigning these tasks. He sighed as he retrieved the stone from where he had thrown it. He turned it over in his hand, feeling its smooth surface as he sat beneath a tree.

Over time he felt his eyes drifting shut. His pulse was all he was aware of as he drifted into semi-consciousness, the loosest edges of a dream beginning. He saw a sphere, or a hole, full of darkness. He watched it warily, unsure of what it was. A faint _**snap**_ brought him back to reality. Looking at the stone, he saw a small crack in its otherwise smooth surface.

He blinked twice, clearing the fog from his mind as he tried to understand what had happened. He was sure the crack had not been there before; he had almost fallen asleep. He was dreaming. What had he been dreaming about?

He closed his eyes again, trying to recall. Slowly, a dark circle appeared in his mind, something inside him stirring as it did. He imagined himself slowly walking into it. A loud _**CRACK**_ sounded as the stone in his hand shattered. He looked at the shards, astonished by the sight. He quickly stood and ran back to the house to inform Sashiri that he had broken it.

Sashiri tossed another one to him.

"Show me," he requested.

Kizoku held the stone in one hand, placing the other above it and repeating the same steps in his mind as he had with the last one. His actions were rewarded with another loud _**CRACK**_. He looked at Sashiri, a childlike expression of joy and pride on his face which fell slightly at the old man's sad smile.

"I see," he said. His voice matched the sadness in his eyes. "Come. The food is prepared, and we have much to discuss."

* * *

Three pieces had moved on the board, two white pawns and a black knight. The man still sat, examining the board, as though waiting for the empty seat across from him to make its move.

"How are your preparations coming along?" he asked his associate in the shadows.

"Well enough," came the reply. "The Shinigami have begun their preparations to stop the convergence."

"In that case…we should offer them a new target," he said as a black pawn moved forward. "Tell me, how is our cousin faring?"

"You want to send _that _monster after them?"

"Who better?" he responded, moving a white knight within striking distance of black's pawn. "As long as their attention is away from us, we can continue our plans in peace."

"Does he still insist on that ridiculous title?"

"Yes, contact the Gravemind. Perhaps he will do our work for us and trample them before we have any need to lift a finger."

"I think that's just wishful thinking."

"Perhaps. Regardless, as long as he gives us time, he will serve his purpose."

* * *

Manasuke Kasobu had been an instructor at the Academy for over thirty years, but he couldn't remember seeing such a sad group of recruits. Some were laughing casually at a joke told by a friend. Others sat on their own looking extremely bored. Only a few were examining the others as he was. These were the students he would watch.

"Get in line, maggots!" he shouted at all of them. Some walked forward calmly, others hesitantly, as if frightened.

"I said, 'GET IN LINE'!" he shouted again, hurrying the stragglers forward. "You maggots are seaking to join the Gotei 13! You should at least be able to form a straight line!" The rest settled in before he continued. "The Gotei 13 is comprised of the finest warriors in all of Soul Society! If you want to join their ranks, you must prove yourselves fierce in combat, shrewd in planning, and fearless before any opponent! Serving in the Gotei is a lifetime commitment; you leave when you die! If any of you doubt your ability to make this commitment, GET OUT!"

A few backed away timidly, some attempted to gather themselves, but withered under his glare. Those remaining had stilled themselves, returning his glare with resolute stares of their own. Only a few still smiled. That would soon change.

There were a few that still stood out to him. A girl with dark brown hair, from the Shihoin family if he had to guess; a young man with rough black hair and green eyes that seemed to return his analysis with one of their own; and a man with sandy-white hair falling past his shoulders, face expressionless, though carrying a hint of anger. He would watch that last one very closely.

"Due to recent events, our examinations will be slightly different. Those of you left will be divided into two groups, a standard group and an elite group. There will be ten places in the elite class. Membership in that class puts you on a track to graduate and be placed in a squad within a year. The standard class will consist of the rest and will graduate after the usual six years…assuming you survive." He said the last phrase with a menacing tone, testing their hesitation once again.

"In order to decide who will gain entrance into the elite class, we will be holding a tournament. You will be sorted randomly into your matches. Fight well! Fight with honor! Show me that you deserve to join the Gotei!"

* * *

**As always, reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**

**A note on some of the names, Kosoku means restraint, and Kashikoizo refers to wisdom and sound judgement. The appropriateness and irony of the names will become more clear later on.**

**Next time: The Tournament.**


	5. Chapter 5: The Tournament (Part 1)

**Chapter Five: The Tournament (Part 1)**

The gathered recruits were muttering amongst themselves, trying to determine beforehand who would make it into the selection of elites. On the wall above them was a large screen filling out thirteen brackets with fifteen numbers each. The brackets moved to smaller screens in the back once they were filled, allowing for a more thorough examining.

Kizoku analyzed the numbers, wondering if he had somehow missed something seeing as he couldn't figure out which one was supposed to represent him. He was looking around to see if anyone else seemed to be having the same problem when he noticed the instructors passing out arm bands to each of the recruits. He noted that they were marked with two numbers, one for the bracket one for the seed. He approached one of the instructors and received an armband indicating that he was in the thirteenth bracket, third seed. He frowned at it. While it would make finding his opponents easier, it also meant that they could find him just as easily. He noticed that there were a few people standing away from the crowd, apparently trying to go unnoticed.

A pat on the back of his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a grinning man with unruly, blonde hair. He rested a muscular arm across Kizoku's shoulders making him quite uncomfortable, but he was still too off-put to complain.

"I see you noticed the cautious ones," the man said.

"Yes," Kizoku replied, shrugging the arm off of his shoulders.

"Looks like we're in the same bracket." He gestured at his own armband. Thirteenth bracket, first seed. "If you're any good, we might see each other in the semi-final." Kizoku nodded, silently considering the man's potential. He was obviously strong, though he couldn't tell how much experience the man had, unlike some others in the crowd that looked like they were unconsciously trying to rest their hand on the hilt of their sword. He would watch out for those most of all.

"I'm Gankonasuke Renga by the way. Most people just call me Renga…." He trailed off when he noticed how Kizoku had to snap back to attention. "You get lost in thought often?"

"I don't know," came the embarrassed reply. Kizoku stuck out his hand, "I'm Kizoku Shinzo."

"Nice to meet you," Renga replied, giving the hand a firm shake.

"Likewise."

A clanging bell sounded from the grounds, and the recruits began filing out the side doors.

"Good luck," Renga said as they followed the crowd.

"You too."

* * *

The instructors had gathered them in an outdoor arena that was really more of a small clearing in the forest. The recruits milled about, still talking anxiously. Kizoku noticed that a few of the others that were hanging back were also examining the competition like he was. The only one who wasn't was the white-haired man. He hadn't caught his name, but he stood out clearly. Kizoku checked his armband. Thirteenth bracket, fifth seed. Kizoku felt a hint of relief. The only way they could face each other was in the final. He wasn't sure why, but he got a bad feeling from him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the faint sound of a voice straining to be heard over the crowd. A moment later, the voice came again, enhanced somehow.

"QUIET DOWN!" it shouted.

All eyes turned to a thin instructor who was standing in the middle of the clearing.

"Thank you," he said in a more controlled tone. "If you will all keep quiet for a moment, I will explain how the tournament will work. You all should have gotten an armband sorting you into one of the brackets. The matches will go across the brackets in order. Thus, the second round of the first bracket will not start until the thirteenth bracket has completed all of its first round matches. Each match will have a ten minute time limit. The match ends when either time runs out, or one of the combatants can no longer fight. If time runs out, it will be up to the judges to decide the winner. Our panel consists of senior instructors and seated officers, so make sure to conduct yourselves honorably! Finally, the only weapon you are allowed is a bokken, which will be given to you before you start your match. Any techniques or methods you already know are allowed. Are there any questions?"

He was answered with silence.

"Very well then, first round combatants, please enter the arena. The rest of you, back away."

Kizoku watched as two very young looking recruits stepped into the ring, bokken in hand. They eyed each other warily, tentatively moving closer. Then they struck…pathetically. They exchanged blows, swinging as hard as they could, but Kizoku couldn't help but think that they were each aiming at the other's sword. This would have lasted the whole time, had one of them not lost his balance after a particularly hard strike. He landed on his seat receiving a generous round of laughter from the rest of the recruits. The moderator raised a flag calling out the other as the winner. The young man complained that he could still fight, only to be guided off to the side by an instructor who commented that he wished he had actually started fighting.

The next two were a slightly older man, a scruffy beard looking like a dead animal plastered to his face, and a young woman with dark brown hair. They faced each other, the man set in a ready stance that was rigid, but strong. The woman, on the other hand, stood relaxed, her sword dangling loosely at her side. Kizoku was slightly worried the man might hurt her, but then he noticed the faint look of approval an instructor was giving her.

Neither combatant moved for over a minute. Sweat was gathering on the man's forehead as he seemed to contemplate what to do. Another minute passed, and he lost all patience, rushing forward to strike. The woman didn't move until he was within striking distance. She dodged, moving with fluid-like grace, and pulled her own bokken up to strike him in the gut. The man crumpled, clutching his gut and seemingly trying not to throw up.

"Winner, Sora Shihoin!" the moderator announced.

Sora walked away, saying nothing to anyone. The winner from the last match looked defeated already. He had been boasting to those around him, but Sora's decisive victory had put a damper on any hopes he had of moving forward.

* * *

Kizoku watched most of the remaining matches with little interest. There were a few times when someone with some skill would impress the crowd, but he couldn't tell how much they were capable of without them having a worthy opponent. Hours passed as the matches continued on until they reached the thirteenth bracket.

First up was Renga. The man looked eager to take on whoever he was facing. It turned out to be a man even larger than himself. Renga only grinned wider as the moderator called for the start of the match. His opponent approached calmly, carefully sizing him up before bringing down a powerful slash. Renga only blocked it slightly, favoring to sidestep out of reach. His movements were surprisingly agile, almost catlike, as he caught his opponent by the arm and hoisted himself over his back. The result was a painful twist for the larger of the two, spinning quickly to relieve the sudden pressure on his arm resulting in a complete loss of balance. He fell backwards, Renga's knee on his chest and his blade hovering above his nose.

"Yield," Renga growled at him. He did.

Kizoku couldn't help but return the man's grin as he came forward.

"I'm impressed," he said. "I thought that big guy would have taken more."

"In his defense, I don't think he's had any sort of training."

"And you have?"

Renga's grin turned sly. "I'll answer that after our match. Assuming you get that far." He added that last phrase with a hint of sarcastic condescension, but Kizoku dismissed it as posturing, though the man was obviously smarter than he let on.

"You really don't react to much, do you?"

"I don't really see a need to. My actions will speak for themselves."

"Fair enough. Looks like it's your turn anyway."

* * *

Sora watched as the next combatants stepped up. A timid looking man with brown hair, the instructor had called him Akitoki Hojo if she recalled correctly, stepped forward. The other was taller with slightly messy black hair. Kizoku Shinzo they had called him. The timid one stepped forward warily, earning a glance of confusion from his opponent. Neither of them really struck her as experienced, or even slightly trained.

Kizoku still stood there, allowing his opponent, who was now trembling, to approach. The brown headed man pulled his sword back and thrust it forward with a "HA". It thumped harmlessly against Kizoku's chest. He seemed reluctant to hurt the timid man, but he pulled his own sword back and gave him a sharp tap to the side of his neck. His opponent slumped unconscious.

Kizoku gave a look of slight regret, but moved back into the crowd leaving the other man to be carried off. Sora was beginning to be bored of these matches. They were only entertaining when they were between people with at least some skill. She hoped the next day would have more impressive matches as the novices were weeded out.

* * *

A sandy-haired man stepped forward next. His opponent looked slightly more seasoned. Her own training had taught her to recognize the proper stances for sword fighting. He was taking a slightly more advanced stance, geared to allow him to move quickly if needed, yet still rigid enough to allow a few openings.

The sandy haired man walked forward, placing his bokken in the ground as he did. The other man, seeing this as an opportunity, raced forward to take advantage of the opening. He was caught firmly by an open palm pressed against his sternum, forcing him to the ground with a loud crack. He gasped for air medical team hurried to his aid. The other man walked away from the field as the moderator called out, "Winner, Yojimbo Yamamora!"

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**

**_This chapter serves mostly as an introduction to the tournament. I didn't want to start out with a bunch of rediculously strong opponents since these are battles between recruits. Sora voices my thoughts on the matter. More interesting fights will come with part two._**

**_Thanks to RAHbooks for the reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy the story._**


	6. Chapter 6: A Restless Night

**Chapter Six: A Restless Night**

Sora silently wandered the empty halls. Those who had advanced to round two were being housed in the manor once owned by the Shiba family. Since the clan's fall a decade before, it had been used to house the guests of special events, such as the selection tournament. She vaguely remembered the layout from the few times she had visited as a child. A vague sadness weighed on her, though she couldn't understand why.

The sound of a door being opened snapped her out of her melancholy thoughts. She followed the sound, noticing the sandy-haired man, Yojimbo Yamamora she believed, disappear around a corner. She followed quickly, clamping down on her reiatsu to avoid detection. For once, being the daughter of the head of Covert Ops was going to come in handy. She didn't really understand why she was following him; something about him just bothered her.

She followed him down one hall after another, taking a path that Sora would have considered random were it not for the speed and determination of his steps. After another couple of turns, she stopped suddenly. Two things struck her as very wrong. The first was that she was back where she had started. The second was that Yojimbo had vanished. She couldn't even sense his reiatsu.

Confused, and slightly shocked, she rushed to the end of the hallway, looking this way and that down the various branching corridors, trying to discover where he had disappeared to.

"What are you looking for?" Yojimbo asked from behind her.

Sora turned quickly, shocked to see his silver eyes staring down at her. Her voice caught in her throat. His posture was strong, but not imposing; his tone was neither harsh nor threatening; and his reiatsu was surprisingly gentle. Even so, she couldn't shake a strange, irrational fear that ate at her heart as he stared at her, waiting for an answer.

"Oh!" she suddenly blurted out, "I was just looking for the bathroom." As soon as she said it, she knew he wouldn't fall for it. He looked at her skeptically, but raised a hand and pointed to the hallway on his right.

"End of the hall," he said shortly.

"Ah, thank you," she said, hurrying down the hall before he could raise anymore questions.

"Oh, and Shihoin-san," he called when she was halfway down the hall. "Please don't let me catch you spying on me again." His tone wasn't threatening, but the fear she had felt before came back as her sky-blue eyes met his gold ones. She didn't answer. She just turned and ran down the corridor, not stopping until she found an exit. Rushing through, she found herself on the balcony overlooking the garden.

She blinked a few times, allowing the cool, night air to calm her mind and relax her muscles. She plopped down at the edge allowing her feet to dangle over. The garden was beautiful, walled on three sides by thick bushes. A fountain fed water into a small creek that beautifully reflected the full moon. Various flowering trees stood all around a winding, stone path.

She sighed lightly. If her brother had seen how she had handled herself, he would never let her hear the end of it.

"You seem tense," a voice to her right said.

She looked over, startled that a second person had managed to get the drop on her that night, though he looked like he had been there for some time. He sat on the other end of the balcony resting in the lotus position, eyes closed as though meditating. After a moment, she recognized him as another participant in the tournament. Kizoku Shinzo.

"What makes you think that?" she responded defensively.

"Why else would someone be out here at this time of the night?"

"Does that make you 'tense' too?"

He smiled at her, though his eyes remained closed. "What is it that's bothering you?"

She frowned at his obvious attempt to dodge her question. She didn't know why she felt disappointed.

"I have a lot to live up to," she said, deciding not to tell him about her encounter with Yojimbo.

"My father is a captain, and my brother is his vice-captain. On top of that, I'm a member of the Shihoin clan, the noble house entrusted with keeping the Hoshoken and Hogyoku. There's a lot expected of me." She was telling the truth, though she couldn't say why. Much like Yojimbo had managed to strike fear into her without reason, this man seemed to set her at ease.

"Are you afraid of failing?" he asked after a brief silence.

She didn't answer. Her silence was answer enough.

"It's okay," he said gently. "Before you can defeat fear, you must face it. That takes courage. Once you face it, confidence can take its place."

'Confidence, huh?' she thought.

"Are you some sort of scholar?" she asked.

He chuckled lightly, if a bit sadly.

"I'm afraid I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I don't really remember more than the past three weeks."

She didn't answer that. For some reason it felt good, knowing that he also didn't know who he was, but still had confidence to move forward. She smiled, but allowed the silence to stretch on. Neither spoke as the moon drifted lazily overhead. Kizoku never moved or even opened his eyes.

"As soon as you're ready," he said eventually, "You should go back to bed. You have the first match tomorrow. You'll need to rest."

"Yeah."

She waited another half hour before rising.

"Thank you, Shinzo-san," she said as she walked back to the door. Kizoku's eyebrows rose slightly, apparently surprised that she knew his name, but he smiled softly.

"Not at all, Lady Shihoin. Good night."

And with that, she left him alone on the balcony. Finding her way back to her room, she collapsed on her bedroll, slowly drifting into a peaceful sleep, disturbed only by the crowing of a rooster marking the beginning of the new day.

* * *

_**I hope you all notice the hints I threw into this chapter. **_

_**A note: Hoshoken essentially means "Sentinel's Sword" and is supposed to point to the main conflict that I've been building in the background. **_

_**Next time: The Tournament (Part 2)**_


	7. Chapter 7: The Tournament Part Two

**Chapter 7: The Tournament Part Two (Gathering)**

* * *

Kizoku watched Sora return to the manor, one thought echoing in his otherwise still mind. _'She was wrong. I'm not tense.' _No, "tense" was far too mild a word to describe the terror that had woken him two hours earlier. The dream he had was not one that could reasonably be called a nightmare, but it left him feeling as though a knife was being held to his throat.

_He was standing atop a tall white tower __beneath a boiling, black sky. __Hot air blasted all aroun__d, roaring like an infernal beast. When he was finally able to draw his attention away from the storm, he noticed that he was not alone on the tower. A man stood at one end, facing southward, away from him. Dark hair fluttered wildly around his shoulders as a pure white haori danced in the raging wind. He placed a hand on the hilt of the sword belted at his waist. It seemed to glow like a beacon, burning against the inky blackness in cold defiance as the diamond shaped guard __rattled a voiceless battle cry. _

_ "So this is your move?" the man said quietly. Somehow his voice was not lost in the wind. _

_ A bolt of lightning cracked the darkness as if in answer, drowning the roaring winds in a thunderclap like a million tumbling boulders. The clouds rolled and churned, forming into what almost looked like a face, grinning in malevolent glee as the air pressure rose rapidly, driving him towards the ground. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the weight vanished. The man had drawn his sword, a cloak of pale blue light surrounding him in a maelstrom of power. His sword, though ready, was held at his side, in a gesture that taunted an unseen opponent with his casual confidence._

_ Everything stilled, the wind dying down, the man vanishing, leaving Kizoku standing alone beneath the dark sky. A shadow took shape where the man had been standing, forming a flickering image of a man with undefined features. _

_ "Why have you come?" it asked in a voice that sounded like a million voices mixed together._

_ "What do you mean?" Kizoku asked, feeling quite vulnerable without so much as a weapon._

_ "You should not have come. It is too soon."_

_ "What do you mean? Where is this? Who are you?"_

_ "Only time will tell," it answered. Then it held out its hand and another shadow formed, taking the shape of a sword. It charged towards Kizoku, sword extended, and he woke with a start, covered in sweat._

* * *

Elsewhere, thirteen individuals stood gathered in a meeting room, polished insignias gleaming on their arms. Some lounged lazily on various pieces of furniture; a couple paced anxiously around the room; most stood still, either waiting patiently or quietly conversing with a colleague. Kosoku Shihoin, however, spoke loudly to the thirteenth division's vice-captain, whose shocking blue hair contrasted with his cautious nature. He patiently hid his disapproval of the second division vice-captain's lack of tact as his voice rose to an even higher volume.

"I'm telling you," Kosoku was saying, animatedly gesturing his insistence, "If they knew the reason for the selection tournament, they wouldn't be so eager to win!"

"Perhaps some," the other replied. "But I think you're being unfair to doubt their courage."

"It's not a matter of courage when it's a suicide mission."

"Why not? If they seek to join our ranks, they should have the same willingness to put themselves on the line as any of us, and it is unfair to doubt their capability. I've received reports that there are several very promising recruits among them. Or do you doubt your own ability to teach?"

"I can teach, but that doesn't mean that they'll learn. They'll still end up dead."

"I wonder if your perception is influenced out of concern for your sister."

"What do you mean, Toriko?"

Two sets of green eyes held firm in an unseen battle of wills as Toriko answered, "She is considered one of the top contenders in the first bracket. Several of the officers are expecting her to win. I wonder if your disapproval is because you don't want her to be in danger."

"Don't make me laugh. For her to win, she'll have to best Yajuona Atari."

"The hakuda protégé?" Toriko asked, face turning white. "I thought he had been forbidden from ever entering the academy again."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Kosoku replied nonchalantly.

"Does it not bother you!?" Toriko demanded, voice rising in indignation.

"Why should it?"

"That murderer will be fighting your sister!"

"So what?"

"What did you say?" The redness that had entered his face due to anger drained away again.

"Geez, Senpai, you get too excited about these things. If she joins the way she is now, she'll just disgrace the family. I'm not interested in that happening. Maybe losing in the tournament will finally convince her that she's not cut out for life as a Shinigami."

Toriko looked as though he wanted to protest, but Kosoku turned and walked away, joining his father by the door. The captains' meeting was over. He left to find his own captain, still angered by Kosoku's flippant disregard for his sister. As it turned out, his captain found him first.

"Toriko!" a voice called from behind him.

He turned and saw the thirteenth division captain walking quickly toward him, a grim set on his usually jovial face. He was known throughout the Gotei 13 as one of the friendliest and most approachable captains, sporting a thick, grey mustache that was rumored to have once shattered an opponents blade on impact.

"Captain Odaya," Toriko greeted with a bow. "I take it the meeting did not go well?"

Odaya sighed. "The meeting was fine. Everything else, however, is going poorly. The convergence has multiplied. There are not six separate convergence points scattered across the world of the living, and the twelfth division is no closer to discovering the cause."

"Sir, what of the deaths in West Rukongai?

"There have been none reported since the Covert Ops were dispatched, but there is no news on the killer. Captain Shihoin believes that he has gone into hiding or moved on to somewhere else. Most of our resources are tied up elsewhere, so it's unlikely that they'll be caught any time soon."

Odaya sighed, forcing himself to relax as they neared the division offices. "I hear that the tournament is going well," he said after a few moments.

"Yes, each bracket has at least one promising recruit."

"What of ours?"

"There are three. Gankonaskue Renga, a hakuda specialist, I've been told that he combines strength with an uncanny agility. Then there's Kizoku Shinzo. We don't know much about him, but the instructors have told me that his reiatsu is above that of a typical recruit and very stable."

"And the last?" Odaya asked when his vice-captain didn't continue.

"The third is a bit unusual. His reiatsu is extremely chaotic, and he caused serious injury to his first opponent with only one strike."

"What's his name?"

"Yojimbo Yamamora."

* * *

There were three things he knew. First, he loved darkness. The unseeing abyss that had sheltered him in his weakness now served him in his strength. Second, he loved death. It is a strange thing for one to love what he must also fear. Yet that terror, always so close at hand, reminded him, despite the curses of others, that he was, in fact, alive. Third, he had been promised new prey, and the idea made him shake with excitement.

There were three things he was not. First, he was not a demon. He had lost count of the number of times victims and allies alike had called him that. He found their unwillingness to accept that he too was human quite amusing. Second, he was not a fool. If he had been summoned, it was because he was needed to accomplish something. What it was, he didn't know. Third, he was not merciful. He looked down at the whimpering form before him, shaking in terror at the horrors she had been shown that night. As the sun rose in the distance, a spark of hope seemed to flare in her eyes. This amused him.

He raised a hand, and the shadows shifted, stretching and thickening into a great canopy of limitless night. The hope that had sprung into the woman's eyes vanished, replaced by a paralyzing, icy fear as figures walked out of the blackness and into her vision. She watched in terror as they approached, unable to even scream as the man walked away, chuckling to himself at his victim's demise.

* * *

The hot afternoon sun bore down on the arena, letting light filter through the leaves as strands of gold. Two contestants stood across from each other, panting hard as they leveled their boken for another strike. Five minutes had already passed in the match as Kizoku and Renga traded blows. Renga had counted on his superior strength to overwhelm Kizoku, while Kizoku had resorted to a crude form of shunpo to outrun Renga.

Renga was reevaluating his opponent. No recruit should have such sharp control of their reiatsu, except for the nobles who had been trained all their lives. Yet this man was adapting throughout the battle, learning new ways to fight.

"Why are you fighting?" he asked.

Kizoku looked confused as he answered back, "What do you mean?"

"You fight with determination. You must have a reason to win."

"I suppose you're right," he answered, grinning.

"So why do you fight?"

"I made a promise," he replied simply. "What about you?"

"I have a debt to repay to the man who saved my life."

"Sounds like a good reason. I'm afraid we don't have time for more talk though."

"True, I'll have to tell you about it after I win."

"You mean after I do?"

"Sure."

The two charged again, Kizoku leaping over Renga as the latter struck the ground, fist charged with reiatsu leaving cracks in the hard earth. Kizoku brought his boken around, hoping to score a hit on the back of Renga's head, but his opponent vaulted forward, carried on by the momentum of his previous strike. They faced each other and charged again. Boken clashed against boken as the two wrestled for the advantage. Renga bore down on Kizoku, and he had to brace himself to keep himself from being crushed. He ducked his head under his weapon and pressed forward, rolling under Renga's legs, but Renga's sword was around, intercepting his in an instant.

The cracking sound of wooden sword against wooden sword echoed through the area as the fighters continued to press each other, Kizoku rushing in and out of reach and being driven back by Renga's immense strength. Finally, Kizoku's sword snapped under the pressure of Renga's strike, sending him reeling away. He retreated quickly, pushing reiatsu into his legs as he ran, scanning carefully for an opening. As he moved in closer, feigning a punch, he noticed the air around Renga's arms swirling. He was doing the same thing Kizoku was.

Kizoku focused his reiatsu into his legs and torso, catching Renga's next blow in his gut. All the air seemed to evacuate his body, but he held strong. Lifting one hand toward Renga as he struggled to escape from his grasp, he focused, diving toward the darkness in his mind, and a burst of energy shot forth, striking Renga in the chest and sending him tumbling across the field. He struggled for a moment, then fell still. Unconscious.

Kizoku gasped for air. Between Renga's strike and his own exertion, he could barely stand. An instructor had knelt down to examine Renga. He looked up and nodded to the moderator, who then raised a hand and shouted, "Winner: Kizoku Shinzo!"

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Sorry for the slow update. The next chapter will come in a more timely manner. I hope you enjoyed this one. As always, reviews are appreciated.**

**Next Time: The Tournament Part Three: The Finals**


	8. Chapter 8: The Tournament (Finale)

Stars danced around his vision. All around voices spoke urgently, but they sounded muffled and far away. A dim light shone briefly in his eyes. "Sli...cussion...," he heard someone saying. He became aware of the pain in his limbs and head, as if a fire had been lit inside his bones.

* * *

"He has a slight concussion, some broken ribs, and some burns," a medic reported. "He got off lucky."

"Thank you," Kizoku said. "Please let me know when he's recovered."

The medic nodded and joined the troupe carting Renga off the field.

"Where did that come from?"

Kizoku turned to see Sora walking towards him.

"Lady Shihoin," he greeted with a bow. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You don't need to be that formal," she answered with a slightly uncomfortable look. "I meant that kido. You were obviously losing, but then you defeated him with one strike."

"Ah, that. Well, I'm not really sure how I did that. It just seemed natural, almost like a reflex."

"Well it's fortunate that you were unable to focus it. If you had, it might have killed him." She paused, noting the slight guilt in his expression.

"What's that look for? You won. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know, but he mentioned a debt that he had to pay. I wonder if I should have yielded."

Rather than give an answer, and without a true understanding of her actions, Sora walked up and slapped him across the face.

"OW!" he shouted in protest. "What was that for?"

Sora seemed just as taken aback by her own assault, flushing in embarrassment, but quickly covered it.

"Sorry," she said. "But you should know better. If you had simply stepped aside, you might have sent him to his death."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. If they're gathering only the top recruits, then this 'training' must be especially difficult and dangerous. Besides that, I'm not sure he would survive the next opponent. That Yamamora is likely to be in the final too."

"You think he would kill another recruit?"

"I'm not sure, but there is something off about him. Be careful." With that, she turned and left him to prepare for the coming fight.

* * *

Sora sighed inwardly to herself. She had her own fight to prepare for, but she found herself confused by man's apparent wisdom and naiveté. How could someone alternate between fighting with desperation and ferocity, resolve and regret. He was quite the opposite of Kosoku. Her brother would likely gloat over his victory, but Kizoku seemed apologetic. Her brother would feel proud having defeated someone with far superior training, but Kizoku seemed more concerned with the damage he may have done. Kosoku. Kizoku. Two men with similar names. Polar opposites.

She shook the thoughts from her head as she neared her destination. The training area was like the arena, a small clearing in the forest, but this one was filled with targets and practice dummies. She walked up to an upright log and split it with a single punch. Venting her confusion and anger, she executed a series of precise strikes on the other targets around the grove, twisting and twirling, floating and crashing until each one was shattered on the ground.

* * *

Renga's head felt like it had been used as a stage for a tap-dancer, a sensation that was further aggravated by the bright lights overhead. He tried to sit up, but groaned as his chest tightened with pain.

"Oh, you're awake!" a voice said cheerfully. He turned his head to see a nurse standing in the doorway. "You probably shouldn't move just yet. Your treatment was only completed an hour ago. You need rest." With that, she turned off the light, offering him a slight respite from his throbbing headache.

The nurse had said treatment. That's right, he had lost. The broken ribs and concussion were these least of the wounds Renga had received in his fight against Kizoku. He had trained in both Zanjutsu and Hakuda from a young age, dreaming of the day that he would charge onto the field of battle, striking terror into the heartless monsters that preyed on defenseless souls. When the tournament had been announced, he had seen it as the perfect opportunity to prove himself, to get that much closer to his goal, but that had changed in a single moment when Kizoku's reiatsu came crashing down on him and an invisible force plowed into him like a raging bull. Until that point, he had felt a definite superiority, pressing Kizoku to the edges of the field, deftly parrying each strike even when the smaller man began flitting about with basic shunpo. He should have won easily. The worst wound he had received was to his pride.

He gazed at his hands, faint outlines in the darkness, and felt the weight of disappointment crash down onto him.

"I'm sorry, father," he muttered.

As he lay in the darkness a new sensation enveloped him, anger, but not just anger, a fiery determination to succeed. He would recover, and he would become strong. Then he would repay his debt, to both Kizoku and that captain.

* * *

Sora gripped the hilt of her new sword. An attendant had approached her a few moments before with an Asauchi. The instructors had decided that the finals were to be fought with real swords. Senior members of the Fourth Squad had been summoned to treat any critical injuries.

She shifted nervously as she eyed her opponent, a hulking man with a manic grin and an infamous reputation. Yajuona Atari. In his first year at the academy, he had gotten into a fight with a third year student. In that fight, he had broken each of the other student's limbs before snapping his neck. For that, he had been banished to beyond the eightieth district of Rukongai, never to have contact with another soul again. She remembered the fury on her father's face when he had been told. He had strongly argued for the man's death. Why he was now allowed to participate, she had no idea, and she didn't find the thought of battling him very appealing.

As if to add to the strange circumstances, each squad's vice-captain was present. She could see her brother among them. To most he would seem impassive, but she thought she could detect a slight amusement in his eyes.

"Combatants!" a judge called from the center of the field. "The finals are beginning. Each battle has a twenty minute time limit. Should this time limit be reached, the victor will be determined by the judges and one vice-captain. There are no restrictions on tactics or how far you may go in your fight. However, you are prohibited from deliberate or unnecessary killing. First bracket combatants, step forward."

Sora and Yajuona stepped to the middle of the field, drawing their swords and readying their stance.

"You have twenty minutes. Begin!"

The two combatants clashed, Yajuona bearing down with heavy force while Sora attempted to redirect and dodge earning her a small scratch on her forearm. She rolled quickly, coming up behind him and bringing her sword around in a vertical slash only to be met by his sword. He spun quickly, holding her sword back with his and bring his fist around in a violent punch. It struck her in the gut, knocking the air from her lungs and sending her tumbling back. She recovered just in time to block another strike that would have split her in half. Her sword pressed forward, giving her enough space to move forward and drive her hilt into his gut. He grunted and stepped back, but brought his sword around, scraping the ground as he chased his scampering prey.

Sora cursed quietly, putting distance between them as she reassessed her options. Yajuona's strength was making it impossible to outdo him in a straight fight. She had to find some way to get a clear strike. She picked up a small stone and threw it towards him. He batted it down thoughtlessly, amused by the attempt. She scampered away, moving around the edges of the arena.

Her opponent seemed to be growing bored, not wanting to allow the alloted time to expire without drawing more blood. He closed quickly as she poured reiatsu into her legs in an attempt to outrun him. His sword met hers, and she moved in, pressing her blade against his guard and twisting sharply, his sword went skittering to the other side of the arena. Seeing the opening, she pressed forward, slicing towards his torso, but he caught her arm in one hand and brought his other down on top of it, snapping the bone.

She screamed, clutching her broken arm to her chest. Yajuona, however was not done with her. He stepped forward and lifted her by the neck. She coughed, choking in his grasp as she clawed at his arm with her left hand; her right arm hung loosely at her side.

_'No!' she thought. 'I can't let it end like this!'_

She continued struggling to no avail, and to the side she saw the judge about to call the match. Then her gaze settled on her brother. Kosoku Shihoin didn't look disappointed, nor did he look joyful. He merely looked satisfied; as though he had expected the outcome and had no qualms about seeing it played out.

A cold fire rose in her gut at the thought. She would NOT give him the satisfaction. What she did next couldn't be described as a plan or strategy. It wasn't something she thought through. It was pure instinct. The last desperation of a victim before their executioner mingled with a cold defiance and hot rebellion. She poured her reiatsu into her arms and shoulders. Lightning flashed from her hand, frying the skin on Tajuona's forearm. He yelped in pain and dropped her, but the lightning did not stop. It continued to arc from her hands and her shoulders, blasting holes and tears into her robes. Then she moved, driven by fury at the monster before her. Her right arm hung uselessly, but her left came around in a powerful strike. Yajuona tried to block, but he was blown back by an incredible force, receiving more burns as lightning continued to arc. He stood back up, throwing a strike at the rapidly approaching girl, only to have her knock it aside effortlessly.

Another blow ended it as Sora's fist collided with his face. Lightning raced out, consuming him and carrying him outside the arena. Fourth squad members wasted no time chasing him down. He would undoubtedly require treatment quickly.

"Winner, Sora Shihoin!" the judge shouted.

She managed to see a look of utter shock on her brother's face before she collapsed.

"Easy," a fourth squad member said. "You're going to be alright. Looks like reiatsu exhaustion is the only serious thing besides that arm. We'll have you better in no time."

Sora only half heard them as her head lolled to one side, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Kizoku watched the fourth squad continue their treatment, stunned at the amount of power the girl had just displayed. He could hardly believe that this was the same nervous girl that he had spoken to the other night in the garden. He was lucky she hadn't scolded him any more fiercely than she had. The fourth squad carried her off, allowing the next combatants to step up. Their fight was markedly less spectacular, ending in a draw when time ran out.

Kizoku allowed his thoughts to wander as he watched, thinking back to the technique he had used against Renga. It had been nothing compared to what Sora had used, and from what he was seeing from the other finalists, he would need something of that level to have a chance of victory. The problem was that he couldn't quite remember what he had done, let alone how he could make it stronger. He suspected that a greater focus would increase its effectiveness, but that would require knowing how he had fired it, so he was back at square one.

His thoughts continued in the same back and forth fashion for the remaining matches. Eventually an attendant came forward, snapping him out of his thoughts when she presented him with an asauchi. He examined the sword, not used to the weight or the perfect balance, though he couldn't say it was an unwelcome feeling. He moved into position as the twelfth round ended. Across from him, Yojimbo Yamamora approached, his silver eyes boring into him. Kizoku was confused to realize that the attendant behind him still had the asauchi, but Yojimbo approached, sword in hand.

Kizoku didn't have time to consider it as the judge called begin, and he found himself immediately on the defensive, parrying quickly as he backed away from the furious sword. He pushed reiatsu through his legs, rushing back and then right before charging forward at high speeds, bringing his blade to bear against his opponent's. Yojimbo glared at him, locked in a struggle for the upper hand. Kizoku carefully moved his left hand behind his blade, focusing like he had before, and a force rushed out, breaking through Yojimbo's defense and sending his sword into a swing. Yojimbo retreated quickly, receiving only a slight cut across his chest, but he seemed stunned regardless. He quickly covered this with a sneer of rage, rushing forward and striking out with a furious barrage of slashes.

Kizoku backpedaled again, barely blocking the attacks and receiving a few small cuts on his face and arms. He shunpo'd back again, but Yojimbo followed, continuing the assault. Sweat broke out on Kizoku's brow as he kept up his untenable defense. He would have to do something to break the rhythm. He flashed forward, rolling just under the attacks, and brought his sword up to attack. Yojimbo anticipated though and shunpo'd behind Kizoku. The movement was fast, faster than any of Kizoku's attempts, and he found himself defenseless.

Yojimbo thrust his sword forward, leaving a shallow wound in Kizoku's side as the other spun away. Kizoku raised his free hand, focusing his power and firing a bolt of blue energy towards Yojimbo who dodged easily, reappearing to Kizoku's right. Kizoku fired another bolt, but it was dodged again. He fired again and again, but to no avail. It seemed as though Yojimbo was merely toying with him. The thought angered him, and he impulsively thrust his hand down, striking the ground and releasing more reiatsu.

The effect was immediate; Yojimbo lost his footing as the soil was upturned in a shockwave. He sprawled forward onto the ground. Kizoku rushed forward, trying to score a good hit before his opponent could recover, but a wave of power stopped him in his tracks.

Yojimbo was rising, glowing with yellow strands of reiatsu arcing around him. His reiatsu was heavy and oppressive, though it fluctuated in intensity. He glared at Kizoku, his golden eyes full of anger.

"Big mistake," he said through gritted teeth.

Kizoku thought he saw pain in the man's expression, but the killing intent that radiated from him seemed to tell another story. His blood ran cold at the man's next words.

"Disperse, Sunakistune."

The blade of the sword crumbled, forming three rings of sand, spinning quickly and intensifying into three large dust devils circling their master. Yojimbo raised the hilt of his sword, pointing it at Kizoku, and the sands rushed forward, three horizontal cyclones of destruction. Kizoku lifted his sword in a feeble defense as the attack rushed over him, sending him flying backwards and leaving rough scrapes all over his skin. He rose shakily, wondering how he could possibly win. Shikai was one of a shinigami's most powerful techniques, superceded only by Bankai and the highest level Kido. On top of that, Yojimbo's reiatsu had climbed incredibly just before release, and now he was feeling heavy, hardly able to breathe. Then, he could breathe. Yojimbo was still there, Shikai released and regathering for another attack, but Kizoku had no trouble breathing. As quickly as it had come, the respite was gone, and the weight of Yojimbo's reiatsu came crashing back down on him.

_'Fluctuating,' _he realized.

He raced forward, rolling under the first blast and barely weathering the second. As the third neared, he felt Yojimbo's reiatsu drop slightly, and he fired another bolt of energy into the twister. It shattered quickly, and Kizoku raced forward scoring a hit on the stunned Yojimbo.

Yojimbo backed away, nursing the new cut across his chest. The two blows had sliced open the front of his robes, and Kizoku saw countless scars, some small, others major, laced across his torso. The rage in Yojimbo's face was terrible, but he grinned through the anger as the sand of his sword came back, gathering around him.

"Not bad," he said as the sand condensed around him in the image of a snarling fox head. "But we're almost out of time. I need to end this."

"Agreed," Kizoku answered, flaring his reiatsu to a level comparable to Yojimbo's. He knew he couldn't keep it up for long. The two rushed forward, the sand-fox's jaws open wide to receive its prey, and the light cloaked challenger. They met in the center of the field, the jaws snapping shut and a flash of light erupting outward in a spectacular flash, kicking up dust and sand into the air, obscuring the combatants.

As the dust slowly cleared, both contestants were revealed to be standing opposite each other, bleeding from their various wounds.

"Time!" the judge called out, and both warriors fell to the ground unconscious.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Please leave a review.**

**Next time we'll get the decision of the judges and start a new arc.**


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